Part 3

 

Greza walked out into the dinning hall where the banners of all the attending nobles hung.  Flower decorations hung from the rafters and musicians played a loud and chaotic song.  The young duke’s son sat in the place of honor surrounded by all his noble friends.  The adults sat off to the side having their adult conversations.

Some pointed and cheered at her entrance.  Others, mostly the women, didn’t seem to notice. 

She looked around for her opponent but didn’t see them. 

Then one of the young nobles, the birthday boy’s younger brother, stood up and raised his voice. 

“Attention, attention!  Here we have the representative of House Roristan.  Our gladiator fights in the archaic method of the Second Empire.  Though old, it is not to be discounted as this slave has fought forty three battles with only three losses.”

The party clapped. 

Then a young nobleman she didn’t recognize stood up.  He was a Pale Elf with long silver hair.

“Attention, attention!  I am pleased to introduce to you, the representative of House Tilefaria.”

The doors on the other side of the hall opened.  A large human entered.  He was the size of an Ork with large and toned muscles.  He had a shaved head and fully armored arms and legs.  He carried a round shield with a spike on it and a short sword. 

The crowd ‘oohed’ and ‘awed.’  He was an impressively intimidating specimen. 

But what the soft nobles didn’t understand was that the fight wasn’t about size.  In fact, Greza hoped that it would work to her benefit.  This man would see a scrawny half-elf in front of him.  He would underestimate her to a large degree. 

However, she couldn’t underestimate him either.  This was a dangerous man and she couldn’t play with him and prolong the fight for the amusement of the audience.  This was a fight to the death.  She had to end it as quickly as she could.  There was no other option if she wanted to live and Erinad had told her that she must live. 

“But, it’s a young girl against that brute?”  One of the noblewomen asked. 

“She’s a trained killer,” a man sitting next to her said.

“She doesn’t even have a sword!”

“Won’t need one.”

She watched from the corner of her eyes as they all began placing the bets. 

“Gladiators, this fight is to honor the birthday of Sir Ferulu.  As such, to properly honor his sixteenth year, this fight will be to the death as is the custom.  Gladiators, the match begins…now!”

The enormous man stepped forward and beat his sword against his shield. 

“This isn’t even a real fight!  I’m going to break you in half, little girl.” 

Greza said nothing.  She never wasted her breath and energy in boasting.   Unlike most boasting though, this man seemed to believe every word of it. 

She stretched her arms and wiggled her fingers to loosen them up. 

Greza looked around for something to throw.  She was within arms reach of a serving table where the kitchen kept extra plates and goblets handy. 

As the man took his first step she reached for the table and grabbed a bowl.  In one smooth motion she threw the bowl at the man.  As she predicted the man raised his shield to block.  This blinded him for a crucial moment. 

She took that moment to rush forward as fast as she could.  She was halfway there by the time the bowl clanged off his shield.  And by the time the man had eyes on her again she was already on top of him. 

Greza grabbed the man’s shield and yanked it too the left, pulling him off balance, exposing his side and getting herself out of reach of his sword.  The man was quick and was already preparing a swing to backhand her with his shield but before he could, she kicked him in the knee.  It was more like a quick stomp. 

No matter how big a tough a person was, if they lost their knee, they were immobilized. 

Her foot smashed into his knee and it crumbled to the side in an unnatural way. 

He howled in pain and fell to his good knee. 

The audience made a collective gasp.  They were shocked at her speed and power. 

An Ork’s muscles were several times denser than a human’s.  It gave them ferocious strength but the density made it impossible for them to swim.  Her muscles were also incredibly dense gave her strength that probably matched this giant of a man’s. 

That was the funny thing.  She was half this man’s weight at least but just as strong. 

The man was on the ground but she couldn’t stop there.  As a gladiator she’d been trained to prolong a fight for entertainment, but she could not play with this man. 

Greza moved behind him to get into a position to choke him but he tried to swing his sword.  Her left arm came up to block the sword and with her right hand she smashed the back of the man’s head where the spine met the base of the skull. 

She heard the sickening crunch of broken bone and felt the warm gush of blood run over her hand. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. 

At least it had been quick. 

The man fell to the ground and she stood up, breathing hard.

The audience was silent.  The fight had lasted maybe twenty seconds at most. 

“It’s over?” One particularly stupid woman asked. 

Then the cheering and booing began.  Her part was over.  The head servant nodded toward the door and she left to the sounds of arguing and laughing.  Money was being exchanged and the man’s body was left where it fell. 

“That was…quite a fight,” one of the women slaves said.  She held a platter of food and stared at her with wide eyes. 

One of her trainers, a retired human gladiator walked in. 

“I think they wanted you to put on more of a show,” Deren said.

“It was to the death and he was too dangerous.”  

He shrugged.

“At least our masters sound pleased.  I guess that’s all that matters.” 

He folded his arms and leaned against the wall. 

At first he had been hard on her, almost cruel.  But after a few years and discovering that she could destroy him he backed off and let her do as she pleased.  She seldom saw him anymore.  He simply had nothing to teach her. 

With her heart still pounding and the adrenaline still rushing through her system she walked back to her room and began cleaning her body.

She took off the armored cestus and found that her right hand was covered in blood.  It reeked of it. 

Did this make her wicked?  She wondered if it counted as self defense.  She could have refused.  Was her life any better than that man’s?  

But Erinad had told her she must live and so she had done what it took to live. 

Now that the fight was over her mind cleared.  She thought back to Erinad and everything he had said to her. 

He was dying.  She had to escape.

Now all she had to do was wait for news of his death. 

It was torture.